Free Juggler of Worlds by Larry Niven and Edward M. Lerner Page A

is the single way out for you and whatever you hope to learn.”
    Sigmund got a drink bulb of cold water from the synthesizer and sat. “I’m here to listen, no more. Why did you want to see me?”
    MENTION OF A LASER PISTOL made Nessus tremble. If he had kept any order to his mane, he’d have plucked it out now. “You have shown good faith in coming, Mr. Ausfaller.”
    But for the departed snowy beard, Ausfaller was much as Nessus remembered. Short, middle-aged, and moonfaced. A bit thicker through the middle than four years earlier. He wore his hair natural: black, thick, and wavy. He still dressed in black, all the starker for his pale, undyed skin. An unimpressive specimen—until you saw those dark, dark eyes. Ausfaller’s gaze was intense. Piercing.
    Unnerving.
    “I regret we did not get to know one another on We Made It,” Nessus said. “It might make this conversation easier.”
    Ausfaller shifted his drink bulb from hand to hand. “The Puppeteer I dealt with, the regional president, wanted to keep things between us. I can’t begin to reproduce his name, but he had the most elaborate mane in the place. I thought of him as Adonis.”
    Adonis? Nessus struggled to control his lips. This was no time for laughter. And if anyone on Earth studied Citizen mannerisms, it would be ARMs. “My apologies, Mr. Ausfaller. Most of us at General Products take human-pronounceable names.” So did many Citizens who would not dream of setting hoof off Hearth. Human pseudonyms were quite the popular affectation back home, within the Experimentalist party, at least.
    Nessus’ onetime boss had such a pseudonym: Achilles. All scouts were crazy, of course, but it took a particular insanity to assume the name of a legendary human warrior. At least Achilles had had the wisdom not to offer
that
name to an ARM. But Adonis? His mane was garish, a fashion nightmare. Then again, what did Citizen scouts, much less humans, know of proper mane styling?
    Not that fashion gaffes mattered. Nessus was increasingly of the opinion that all mane ornamentation was a pointless, time-wasting pretension. There was nothing like the coming end of everything to put things into perspective.
    Ausfaller squirmed in his chair. “Adonis’ real fake name doesn’t concern me, Nessus, unless he’s on Earth.”
    “I’ll get to the point,” Nessus said. “And no, he’s not. You are doubtless aware of the recent discovery regarding the galactic core. As many have surmised, General Products personnel have returned home because of that news.”
    Ausfaller leaned forward. “Why was the recall done in secrecy? Why so hastily? The radiation won’t arrive for twenty thousand years.”
    Flee from danger. Gather for protection. How could it be otherwise? Long before intelligence emerged, those without these instincts died in the mouths of predators. “What one thing does everyone on Earth know about Puppeteers?”
    “That you’re cowards.” Ausfaller took a long swallow from his drink bulb. “No offense.”
    Nessus said, “I’m not offended. We consider ourselves prudent. Among us, cowardice is a virtue.” He paused to synth a beverage, busying his heads when they yearned to pluck the tousled mess that was his mane. Human food lacked nutritional value for him, but warm carrot juice soothed him nonetheless. “We run from danger. We don’t wait.”
    Sigmund considered. “So everyone else went home immediately. How is home, wherever that is, any safer?”
    A head defied Nessus’ will, plunging to twist and pull at an errant tress. He brought the head back up. “You misunderstand. We must flee the galaxy.”
    “And hang the consequences to the rest of us.”
    Hang? Maybe Puck would have understood the metaphor.
The rest of us
was clear enough. “We verge on the purpose of this meeting. Unavoidably, General Products’ departure impacts human worlds. It impacts Kzinti worlds, too, although that may concern you less.”
    “Impact?” Ausfaller snapped.